


a tremendous thing

by CampionSayn



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: I Tried, Multi, Tumblr Prompt, alternate universe- vikings, druid!Evan, game idea: how many other musicals can I hint at, viking!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: This does not start with a 'once upon a time' but it does start with somewhere, some time, far away. Perhaps somewhere that these pains could be useful.spoiler alert: I had to bullshit my way through 80% of this.





	a tremendous thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightshine629](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nightshine629).



> For the record, the very peak of my knowledge on Vikings is from cult trivia and a mythology lesson in fifth grade that gave me a headache. I realize being an actual fucking descendant of the people who sailed those ships, that reflects poorly on me; but at least I can PRONOUNCE my preference that is Asian mythology. My fraternal ancestors can suck it.
> 
> (Also, if the person who wrote the prompt meant for a Vikings-the-actual-TV-show-AU; I'm so sorry, I have NEVER seen it.)

For as long as people have existed, it is doubtless that mental illness and neurodivergence has existed, in some form or another, as well.

Caves filled with breathtaking wildlife and the highest mountain peaks existed before being found, after all.

Suppose that what is known now with the people that walked through a trauma and experienced things in a certain situation were to experience it through another of the, doubtless, infinite realities.

Connor Murphy, in the twenty-first century, went through much of his teen years experiencing loneliness ripping through him with anger and pitch black depression that he took out on other people before finally making one stab at being decent and then taking himself out of the equation of ruining other people's lives.

Evan Hansen, in the twenty-first century, went through basically all of his life terrified of himself and outside sources of stress until he took a shot at allowing himself to be happy filling in for the life Connor threw away and ruined his own life in the end.

Suppose there was a chance, somewhere else, in some other time, where these difficulties were useful...

* * *

Among the hundreds of Viking clans that ran through the islands and landmasses of the North, Connor was lucky enough to be born under his clans chief as firstborn and only son, but that was about where the luck ran out.

He was well tended and cared for, but come his fifth year, he was set out to be made a warrior that might, someday, take over the role of chief; cunning, speed, strength, to endure the nature that was necessary among their kind.

It wasn't too different from being like the other boys under the tutelage of the elder warriors.

At six he could scuffle among the others and come out on top three out of five times, and walk off any slight bruises that came with it.

At seven, he was usually at the head of the pack, or somewhere in the middle when sent to run along the cliff sides and ocean front; long legs that everyone said would probably grow longer with age.

At eight, he could read and write fairly well, even helping his sister out when her studies with Alana left her in a rut and she wanted to hurry out of the studies room and help Connor man the fishing vessels and look for heavy blue fish that she knew how to skin and turn their scales to paint.

Around nine, those growing pains his teachers and father mentioned started winding through his bones and making him hungrier than he ever thought he could be; but he did as he was told and put the negative feelings to use for powering through difficulties in an effort to make his father proud.

Then his age of double digits brought...trouble.

He began to feel angrier and frustrated more easily. He couldn't concentrate during training rounds and, if caught off guard, began picking fights.

His mother thought maybe he should spend time with the druids their clan were allied with, on the mainland in the woods that used to give Connor shivers when he was younger and made him hold tight to Zoe's hand whenever their father brought them along and they had to stand waiting out council meetings. The head of the druids was a woman with fine yellow hair and a kind disposition, but no matter how many years passed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them that was near and dear to her and would cause disaster if he did something wrong anywhere in her sight.

He was glad, the first time his father said no.

Connor thought, maybe, that the warmth his father used to show both Connor and Zoe when they were younger was returning in light of Connor's troubles, that he would talk with Connor and they could figure out why he was so angry all the time. He was the chief, after all, surely he knew and his mother was just being her usual concerned self in the face of Connor's small problems.

...But how wrong he was.

_(The fighting became worse. The inability to concentrate became more than just moods and headaches, but seemed to feel like something dark and cold was saving space in his head and chest so that he'd explode like a rabid wolf with hardly any notice, never mind a reason. He kept running off in the nights and early mornings and simply paced the length of the beach, hissing and muttering to himself and, at times, punching a rock face and returning to town with scabbing flesh and bloodstains where he'd wiped it on the animal furs adorning him.)_

When he was thirteen and got into a fight with over half of the group he was training with to be proper warriors, he came out of the other side of the fight the victor, but there was no joy on his father's face and he'd just stared at Zoe like he was going to hit her as well when she came running up from the boats to check on him.

His father didn't question his mother when she spoke that night at the fire in their home, somber, but putting her foot down, "I'm taking him to see Heidi. You might not put much stock in her abilities, but she knows things we don't. Connor isn't going to get better without help."

Fourteen years and three days, he found himself before the druid priestess leader, her eyes caring and knowing, and that forsaken feeling of being abandoned resting on his shoulders when his sister was the only one to give him a hug before she and their parents returned to the boat and set sail home.

* * *

That feeling of being watched, it seemed, was not singular to being around Heidi.

"Shouldn't I call you something...I dunno, more respectful?"

"It's nice of you to offer the respect," Heidi had answered as he set his belongings in the cave that served as her home, a bed of animal skins newly made and set out for him on the other side of what must have been her own, and another that didn't looked used all that often further into the cave's dark that smelled oddly of wildflowers, "But we're rather informal around here. We might be descended from Vikings like yourself, but we're also outliers, so formality is a little pointless."

Such a completely and utterly different way of handling things compared to his father, Connor had no response to give to such kind sentiment, merely nodding and observing her go through the motions of settling things down so he'd be comfortable for however long he was going to end up staying with this odd collection of people he had no understanding of, and therefore no basic experience in being around.

The days that followed were not unlike getting his sea legs when he was too young to remember, yet the lessons remained etched in his bones.

Very few children his own age, save for the Kleinman son that was always running around and out of breath, often reporting to Heidi and whispering something in her ear that made her face slip into something troubled, before responding in equally low tones. Kleinman usually bolted off again for the higher grounds surrounded by the dark pines and oaks, often not returning until evening bell with a parcel or basket of strange plants and flowers Connor had never seen before.

"What are they for?" He'd asked one evening after hunting rabbits and fishing for trout  _(wolves were explicitly **not**  for carving up; a sacred animal among these people's and not to be taken for meat or fur)_ with Kleinman being more quiet than usual and the feeling of those eyes on him non-existent that day and leaving Connor feeling a little antsy for action of conversation.

Kleinman, surprised at being addressed and not looking to make friends with a Viking with issues, answered blandly and with little feeling, "Healing, mostly. But some of them are herbs for soul searching that Heidi will probably give you when she finally takes you to the grove."

"The grove?"

He tapped Connor on the side of the head, "Figure out what goes on up there that makes you blackout and angry as hell. You haven't been there yet?"

He shook his head, laying a knife to the belly of one of the rabbits he'd caught and not at all minding the blood that slicked his hands and made Kleinman genuinely uncomfortable.

The grove, as it turned out, was an exceptionally beautiful place to the eastern half of the group's land; stones twice his length and weight, hundreds of years old and carved with the language of the ancients, circling three slabs of black rock. Old herbs and flowers were strung up around candles that had been set out, waiting for him and Heidi...

And a teenager Connor had never seen before that evening, adorned in bright blue cloth none of the other druids wore, and body paint in unusual detail all along his left arm. Standing barefoot on the outside of the ring with some of the wolves Connor had seen Kleinman follow after on his days when he was exceptionally out of breath, two massive grey pelts and a pup that just barely glanced up when the two strangers wandered nearby; not taking off because the blonde didn't seem inclined to bolt.

Didn't mean he didn't tense up or that he avoided eye-contact entirely, but he didn't run away.

"Evan," Heidi greeted gently, inclining her head with subtle grace and smiling around the sadness etched in her eyes when the other made towards them, finally looking up, but also wrapping reed thin arms around his middle.

He was probably so cold, the wind in the air bringing hints of frost in from off the sea and reminding everyone on land that winter was fast approaching.

Connor could see the veins in the bared skin matched the color of his eyes when they met Connor's, if only for a moment.

What it meant to him, he realized, once he'd had to spend a good three hours choosing between sets of different flowers, herbs, insects, dead bird feathers, stones, ruins, having Heidi sweep them into a pot and having him choose from one of the flames lit beside the pillars to pull fire from and set the pot ablaze  _(the smell was not unpleasant, but the grey-green smoke that spiraled out of it left him twitchy)_  and having her tell him he'd be spending more time with Evan in the months to come. Her giving Evan a wider grin as she put out the fires and him trying  _(and mostly failing)_  to return it, before he'd given Connor a small nod and then bolted off into the mist that had surrounded them without their noticing. Wolves right behind him and just as silent.

Her explanation, when Connor had asked on the way back, almost tripping over loose stones they had to cross before a walk along the twine bridge over a small river, had been a little frustrating, and a little revealing, "You have similar ghosts in your heads. Perhaps you'd be able to...help each other."

He didn't understand.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, after having eaten a little more the night before because of the onslaught of fish trying to make their way home before ice took over the channels, he was reminded of just exactly why Heidi insisted he not keep weapons under his bedding in this new environment.

Bright blue eyes looked over at him from the bedding across the way that had been empty and unused since he'd arrived, Evan hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees; three dangerously large black wolves surrounding him.

Had this happened back at home in the chief's family lodging, Connor would have simply grabbed the ornate and heavy knives he kept beside him and shucked them without thinking.

As it was, he allowed himself to remember that he was, technically, in a safe place and among people that had done him no harm; taking in breath for five seconds, holding for three, letting go for five heartbeats until he could clearly wonder what was going on.

"H-Hello," Evan greeted first, the actual first sound Connor had ever heard from him, and a lot deeper than he expected somehow, "M-Mother said you're supposed to c-come with me on my rounds until she decides p-proper treatment."

"...Mother?"

"Oh, right, you probably don't know, um...Heidi's my mother."

"But I only saw you yesterday, and she never mentioned she even had a kid!"

The wolves didn't seem to appreciate his raised voice, regardless if it was due to the surprise of the sweetest and kindest woman he'd ever met  _(that wasn't his own mom)_  having a kid. True, he'd wondered about the empty bed, but assumed she was keeping a place available for a husband that was maybe off on diplomatic or trade duties or...something.

They growled low and threatening, much like the ones back home when they were about to attack and rip the throat out of an enemy or a viking that had stumbled upon them devouring a kill; but they did not attack him, as Evan rubbed and nuzzled their maws like they were no more than tedious pets.

"I'm...I'm not usually around. I get plants and stuff that the others have a harder time finding, which takes up more time than anyone else...J-Jared is usually the only one that knows where I am. My m-mom did tell you I h-have...problems. People make them worse."

* * *

Connor is fifteen and eight moons, has been wandering the dark woods with Evan and the seemingly dozens of wolves he treats like children and sibling alike, when Zoe and Alana come inland on a boat with Cynthia standing in for Larry.

Neither of the boys are on the shoreline when the ship docks, too busy looking for black chokeberries and talking about the endless possibilities of what the gods must be doing often and for how long from one day to the next. Connor enjoying that he could get Evan to blush while he waxed poetic about a story his father's best warriors liked to tell when they were especially drunk on mead and the children were supposed to be off to bed; about the giantess who survived sleeping with Thor and also helped save a pair of princesses in exchange for a butter churn that was as tall as herself and an actual ton of bacon  _("Something worth more than gold, let me tell you,")_  that suited her better than jewelry.

He'd been explaining to Evan exactly what bacon  _was_  when Jared came bursting through the underbrush at full speed, two of the caribou he often tended when not stalking the woods for Evan, following after him.

Each of the caribou had upon their back two visitors that were missed, though Connor never would have admitted to aloud.

Though he did not appreciate that their inability to announce their presence a bit more gently led to Evan giving a small scream, not unlike a rabbit or kestrel, before disappearing into the deep dark of the wood; doubtless meaning it would take hours to find him again.

They had gotten to know each others ghosts, after all.

Still, Connor greeted Zoe and Alana with as much pleasantness he could manage, having missed them, but finding it a little difficult to tuck away the worry that Evan was probably breathing heavily under a hedge and terrified of his own ghosts screaming at him and unable to do a damn thing about it, unlike his own ghosts, which were getting better with the herbs Heidi and Evan provided, and the talking, which Connor was learning to appreciate.

When he sees his mother waiting beside Heidi, seeming thinner than she did the last time they spoke, he knows something must be wrong.

"Your father thinks it's about time you came home," she explained as only a mother and wife could, looking over her son with quiet eyes and taking in the differences that she could see and he probably couldn't, "Our correspondence with Heidi has given him reason to think that your herbs could be helpful back home just as well as here, and he wants you to start preparing to be a proper warrior, Connor. You're almost sixteen, and you've got to start making your mark among the other clans. Your first Challenge is only six months away, after all."

It's always at the mention of Larry, father-husband-chief, that makes him feel worn down to the bone and he can hear the ghosts in his head whispering and hissing evil through his brain deeper than a heartbeat.

But he resists, and there's that old familiar feeling of eyes on him that don't expect anything.

He glances without moving his head to the trees and the dark outside of everyone's notice,  _blinks_ , there's those bright blue eyes with the shining of the wolves flickering in the firelight of the cooking pits,  _blinks_ , and he can't see them, but that doesn't mean they're gone.

Connor has learned in the time among the druids and especially within hand-holding distance of Evan, how to read body language as clearly as written words in ink, or tattoos and scars along a body.

Cynthia is regal and tall, but her eyes won't look directly at him; she doesn't think a year is enough time to heal a fractured mind. And maybe she's right, but he still feels like he owes it to her.

Zoe is looking right at him, bold and sturdy. She's grown leaps and bounds and she really does miss him; her hug from earlier that nearly choked the wind out of him was enough for him to understand that, but it's still nice to see it wasn't a one time only sort of feeling.

Alana is not terribly unlike Zoe and not terribly unlike his mother; she knows he is important and necessary to their clans survival, but if the way she keeps glancing at Zoe is anything to go by, he can guess that he's less important to her than Zoe's peace of mind at his well-being.

Connor took this all in and measured the people he knew, with their feelings about him, but couldn't help but take a glance over at Jared, placed halfway between the talks and where the both of them know where Evan is hiding.

They found themselves, about six months into Connor's stay, as sort-of friends, with little to no realization or understanding of just how that happened, but they didn't question it too much.

Jared seemed a little bit torn on how to feel on this, as it didn't exactly change much in his life, but he actually seemed to  _like_  Connor being around.

Heidi is half-loose and half-rigid; she understands, but she feels there's more to do. Connor can understand, after all, he hasn't really done anything to repay her when she and Evan have helped him so much.

If he could just have a moment to talk to Evan, the decision could be made...

But, like so many moments he hopes for when his family is around, he can feel a moment pass, and those eyes on him leave; Evan going with them to be found later.

"Could I have a couple days to think about it?"

He tried his best to not rankle at how surprised his mother was that he actually thought out his question before offering a real decision; the same mirror of a look cast on his sister and Alana alike, but he was glad that he got the answer he wanted, given that none of them were inclined to sail back quite so quickly after being stuck there for so long on a rocky, choppy ocean that could only be buffered so much in a vessel meant for speed.

There was a show to be made of his doing well, he knew; showing them around to all the things he'd learned, the things he'd made, the readings he'd been given to try and understand so that he had knowledge few others in his clan had when he went back. Proof that he was truly a warrior and future chief material, not just by blood, but merit he'd actually managed to earn while left more or less on his own.

Once dinner came around, the moon barely a sliver in the starlit sky, with few whirling clouds to blot the view and sister, mother and Alana all tucked away in the guest cave just a stone's throw from the Kleinman's  _(Jared wasn't quite sure what to make of Connor practically shoving his sister and her best friend in his general direction, but he knew to keep his hands to himself and wasn't going to complain, thank Thor)_  and Heidi finishing her rounds; Connor took off like a shot.

There was a spot beneath an oak, three times as tall as any around and that always had green on it no matter the season, that he found Evan bundled under among grass and leaves, fingers fiddling with casting stones and no wolves in sight.

Both endearing to Connor and nerve-wracking; the wolves only seemed to leave them alone when Evan felt privacy was in order and he was willing to put himself in what he felt was either open danger or open safety.

This sort of thing always happened under the tree that Connor could not help but dislike, though he never really knew where the feeling came from.

Still, he took his seat beside his friend  _(and they were friends)_  and waited; listening...

* * *

Six months is a long time to be separated from someone while his irritating father's voice was constantly pressing on the brain in preparation for the upcoming onslaught of some, what, three hundred people from rival "ally" clans come to the island to show off their first born heirs and all the pomp and circumstance that came with it.

True, Connor had the ring Evan had carved for him  _(a tiny black pine and silver inlaid band with a forest cat's head to soothe his soul)_  and the herbs Heidi sent every month, and the extremely well-written letters traded between them...and the promise of seeing Evan when the event actually came and the druids showed up to participate because it was one of the things that was just  _done_...

But a buffer to escape all the needless flirting from the clans that showed up early would have been preferable.

His sister and Alana were participating in the women's faction of the games: not unlike the male section, just something within their own weight limit and kept separate because the ladies of the clans insisted; which meant they had to endure flirting from all sides of their own, but not like Connor.

Connor was from a long bloodline of chiefs, was set to inherit, was young and hardy...but he was also  _too **goddamn**  pretty_.

Even decked out in the ridiculous regalia his mother made him wear and his father insisted truly only brought respect and Zoe promised made him come off some high percentage more threatening, he just couldn't avoid people flirting with him.

_Beige sails came_. The little makeshift clan that was largely a collection of orphans and cast-offs were the first to arrive, their leaders just a handful of teenagers about a season or two older than Connor  _(two women, though, that was impressive)_  and the teens they chose for champions his age and Zoe's age. Two right hand men who seemed nice enough and spoke well even though their accents left much to be desired, each in charge of their own hoard of fellow vikings or vikings in the making with names that obviously were not given at birth; all eager and bursting with energy Connor was happy to see in ones so young.

About five of the mid-teens under the right hand Jack's command, unfortunately, took it into their heads that Connor and Zoe were both girls until Connor had finally opened his mouth to give a vulgar retort when a blonde with a fast mouth who was as tall as Connor went a little too far with the offer of a "good time, baby~"

Connor had actually taken the moment to pause from unloading fish from the net his sister had brought in with the extremely fine and muscled women that must have had to deal with this so often and made it a point to glance over and look at the boy, Racetrack he recalled the others yelling at him, like he was little more than an annoying insect, "Would this good time involve shoving my spear up your ass, honey?"

This pleased the girls, but did not do a damn thing for his problem with the little brats. The idiot just blinked and tried again in the same breath.

Connor felt the nagging from his mother was worth it just to toss the blonde in the bay when he slapped his ass in the same hour.

_Striking, almost bloody red sails followed._  The next to arrive were a collective lead by probably some of the fiercest female Vikings he'd ever seen that all went by the same name, but easily lead by a blonde that brought to mind stories of the goddesses Freya and Frigga put together to form the personality of a mythic bitch.

Their three ships were grande and prestigious, but dear gods, the two strongest male vikings on the second ship might have been well had in battle, but they were the most insufferable bastards he'd ever had the displeasure to come across. Mid-thirties and with only stubble rather than strong beards, their fathers had formerly lead the clan in concert before dying in battle in each other's arms and having a joint funeral that brought to mind a death-wedding ( _yikes_ ).

During the feast the night of their arrival, Connor was fortunate Zoe was there to keep him from slamming his head into a pole or wall or table when he heard one of the massive idiots say he was looking forward to when the high druids finally came in to join the party, "I haven't seen my sister or nephew in over three seasons; by now he's hopefully gotten over some of his ghosts and at least learned some of the more important spells or whatever."

He could almost see the resemblance between the hulking idiot and Heidi, close bone structure and eyes, and the fact that they had the same protective sigil tattoos in a green ink Connor wasn't likely to see on a viking that wasn't related to a druid in some way, but Connor quickly made up his mind, when the idiot swallowed a whole chicken leg and tried to goad some of the little ones into copying it  _(much to the horror of Cynthia and the second in command Davey)_  near the end of dinner, that when Evan docked, Connor would be right there to brain the elder if he did anything stupid.

Luckily, the other three people in the fleet were substantially easier to live with in the days that followed; a cleric, a rogue they picked up flying for his life from pirates and a female warrior with some knowledge of the ways of the druids. The third one more or less ran the clan when they were back home and Connor felt pretty at ease talking to her, despite the fact that their rogue had an aura surrounding him that made Connor feel twisting and uncertain even as he treated the Lady Sawyer like she was the leader and to be respected.

He wasn't alone in this feeling, Zoe had trouble being around him as well, so, just to be sure he wouldn't try anything while their clan was on the island, Connor asked for Zoe and Alana to sneak out with him during the night while everyone else slept and dug some holes to lay four blessing blessing jars full of basil, red ivy and a rusted nail within until the other clans left.

"But what's it for?" Alana had asked, yawn escaping her as they trudged back to the chief's home in an attempt to get some sleep before dawn came in heavy and they had to be up for their own duties in the welcoming of both Heidi's clan of druids and their ally druids to the east. Zoe leaning against her, barely more than a limpet at that point, much to the amusement of both her best friend and brother.

Connor didn't think he could make himself sleep, he was wound so tight after the waiting and the subtle excitement.

"It's a protective spell. Or, at least, a close approximation; we don't have any roses here on the island, I had to make do."

"Protection for?"

"Everyone. Everything. I do have the ability to care about people other than myself these days."

* * *

_Blinding blue sails were raised high;_  if a little tattered when the druids came in the night, a storm having swept through the island, doubtless leaving the sea going vessels that were headed their way in worse states than those on land. Yet still, they made it, and Connor actually rose to stand beside his father in greeting them as the evening bell chimed.

When he'd been among Heidi's clan, he'd never seen the ship that would bring them there, but both ally druids had the same type of ship, large and beautiful, with wood that actually smelled pleasing and ruins carved along the sides and all available ridges that spoke in spells and poetry Connor learned through trial and error and had memorized when he'd even asked Evan to read some out loud among the wolves in his first four months; finding them fascinating and so different from words usually meant to stay.

Heidi's neighbor docked first, a very soft looking man with a heavy waist, and dark red beard with regalia Connor didn't think most druids had the rights to wear unless they knew extremely complicated spells that could save or destroy armies whole if called upon. It wasn't even different from a woman's, which Connor had seen a couple times when Heidi was contemplating treaty works at the dinner table and laid it out with a few other of her clothes usually worn to meetings.

Deep white-bone white robes, with holly and oak made out like arm plates, and a circlet adorning their heads made from the teeth of animal kills; a fetching dark blue shawl tied around their shoulders had the symbol of their clan sewn in the center.

As per tradition, however, they were not the first to descend the ramp and give greeting like the viking clans.

Since druids generally kept the peace, their fellows descended first, usually any sacred animals following beside them, followed by the leaders, followed by their heirs or any champions they chose to use in the festivities.

Which meant Connor got to see Jared and his ally  _(very nice boy Connor had met when he was twelve by the family name of Mell, whose two mothers were head warriors in their druid clan)_  descend first. Each had three caribou follow behind them, shining white and beige with their antlers painted at the tips the black and red the guard and warriors also adorned on their faces. The caribou themselves would be allowed to roam the island without harm or being hunted or spooked, same as whatever animals were brought with the heirs.

This was followed among the Heere clan by quite a few more druids and warriors in the making, teens likely to participate and looking quite ready to do so as they left the ship looking about not unlike birds on the first day of spring just learning to fly; though just the Hansen's healer followed behind Jared for some reason...

Which became obvious when Jared jerked to the side of the ramp and promptly vomited into the dock's water.

Many of the vikings surrounding snorted or cackled at the display, Connor's own father obviously barely keeping a straight face until he looked over to his son and found an actual disapproving look adorning his features and then swiftly wiped the look off his face and tried to control himself as he waited.

_(At least, Connor encouraged himself internally, now he knew why Kleinman never spent more time than he had to near the fishing boats and always jumped at the chance to go looking for Evan or hunt rabbits. A little mystery that had been in the back of his head that went unacknowledged most of his stay.)_

When the healer paused beside Jared and offered what Connor knew to be smelling salts, things were back on track and the druid leaders finally descended, their smiles a welcome change from the viking leaders that were expected to remain solemn until greeting the island's chief and their full regalia a complete and welcome difference from the fog that had taken hold for most of the day. They looked like beacons.

Still, Connor didn't pay much attention as they finally took to land and made to greet his father. His was barely able to keep himself still as the druids heirs would begin their descent; introduced first by their sacred beasts, that Connor noticed the smaller vikings in the making were more interested in seeing.

Heere's son came to the front of the ship, adorned in a ceremonial robe Connor was sure Evan wouldn't be wearing, rather thick and heavy with rabbit fur in blacks and white pelts dyed pink and red; a circlet of blackwood sprigs and twine atop his head. The sigils he wore looking not unlike high reaching branches that decorated his arms and neck in white.

His beast was a wolf, like Connor thought it would be, large enough to pass as a mount, with black and white fur that showed off the bluest eyes.

It had to remind Jeremy not to leave first, nipping his fingers and pulling him behind it as noise sounded from Heidi's boat, signalling Evan coming up finally.

Or, more specifically, Evan's seven largest wolves that scared the hell out of Connor no matter how used to them he'd gotten, starting with Angelica and Burr, the biggest and the fiercest  _(and secretly Evan's favorites, because they snuggled around him easiest when it was too cold)_.

Each were twice the size of the one on the Heere's boat, bigger than certain horses Connor had ridden, and started the march down the ramp without pause, given that it would take slightly longer on their end.

The single wolf began its own tromp down the deck as the fourth one on the other side made its way, having enough of waiting and probably wanting to get a closer look at others of its specie after being stuck in the boat for so long; its charge hesitating momentarily until he caught sight of Evan and they nodded to each other on the way down.

Connor felt his throat tighten and his blood rise to the tips of his ears, finally a little thankful for the fog.

Evan looked beautiful. And he really meant that, not as a compliment, but as an honest to gods truth as he stood at the top of the deck and Connor took him in for the first time since Connor had to leave.

He'd finally gotten some sun, the tan bringing out the yellow in his hair and the color of his eyes, his own robes of cotton and silk threads the blue of a sky and ocean in perfect peace; the circlet on him a simple collection of berry wood, but his ceremonial paint green, green, nothing but green and doubtless from the garden only he, and Connor, knew about.

He seemed a little frozen, the white of his eyes visible from where the leaders' party stood; obvious only to Connor, who knew him still, that his ghosts were reminding him of all the mistakes he could make just by breathing and trying to be a part of something.

The little ring in Connor's pocket, whittled with his own hands and blessed at least a dozen times in ceremonial water, the head of a wolf comforting against Connor's fingers, reminded Connor that this was real. They were real and he could help.

Licking his lips and following the instructions Evan had taught him, Connor rolled his tongue into position in his mouth, took a breath, and closed his lips.

The sound was startling to those who didn't know where it was coming from, thinking it was from overhead and a raven; but it did the trick as Evan lifted his head from looking down at the ramp and caught Connor's eye. And the way he was smiling...

He smiled back, and took his cue.


End file.
